Putting Up With It
by Igorina
Summary: Ron has a new and distinctly disagreeable houseguest. A series of short RonxDraco ficlets.
1. Putting Up With It

Disclaimer: I own neither Ron nor Draco, a fact for which I'm very relieved given the state of their habitation in this drabble.

-

As he looked from the expensively-dressed form sprawled out on the sofa to the detritus of dirty crockery and discarded sweet wrappers that had accreted around it, Ronald Weasley cursed the day he'd staggered drunkenly out of that rural pub and come face to face with the Magical World's Most Disgraced.

But then, how was he to know that one awkward and ill-advised fumble in a hedgerow would be taken by the now-penniless Malfoy heir as an invitation to come and inhabit his tiny flat in Diagon Alley.

A pale and distinctly annoyed face turned to regard him.

"Weasely, you've really got to get yourself a House Elf."

"What?"

"This place looks like a Muggle landfill and it's perfectly clear that you're unable to maintain basic standards of indoor hygiene on your own."

"Landfill?" He gaped. "You're the one who can't be arsed to tidy up."

"No Malfoy has 'tidied-up' in seventeen generations," snapped Draco, clearly deeply affronted by the suggestion.

Ron gave a heavy sigh. Why the hell hadn't he thrown this… this bane of his existence out yet?

He knew the answer, of course. He also knew that said answer would have most reasonable people shaking their heads with a mixture of pity and contempt.

However, the irrefutable fact remained that as stroppy, whiny, snobby, petty and downright obnoxious as Draco Malfoy was, he gave damned good blowjobs.


	2. Gainful Employment

A/N: Well, the previous drabble was supposed to be a one-shot, but I just couldn't resist writing a follow-on ficlet. I may add a few more if and when I get ideas for them. Big thank you of course goes to everybody who reviewed the last instalment.

-

If there was one thing worse than Draco's incessant whining about the flat's abysmal lack of cleanliness (most of which he was personally responsible for), it was his constant moaning about the 'heartless' manner in which his former friends had abandoned him.

"...so Pansy left the country without telling me, Crabbe and Goyle have joined a Muggle death metal band called All Hale Saturn – they never were much good at spelling – and Bulstrode's threatened to crucio me if I ever set foot on her property again."

"Yeah, funny how people can get when their guests get so plastered that they can't tell the difference between the bathroom and the linen cupboard," muttered Ron, cringing at the recollection of the thunderous look on Millicent's face when he'd turned up to remove the too-drunk-to-apparate Draco from the premises.

Draco however did not seem to register this comment. "Oh, and Zabini and Nott are always too busy with that advertising agency they've just opened in Knockturn Alley to see me, the bastards."

Ron fought down the urge to mention that Zabini was probably still also a tad pissed off about the obscene Christmas card Draco had sent to his mother.

"Why don't you ask them for a job then?" he said, having a good idea that the suggestion that Draco should find some for of employment would be in vain, but still inclined to give it a go on the off-chance.

Draco's nose wrinkled. "A job working for those two, you must be joking."

"What about a job working for somebody else then? You know that my bills have almost doubled since you've been here."

The other man gave a sniff. "Yes, but that's because I've been helping to improve your sense of taste. If you were still on your own you'd probably still be buying everything from that dreadful _It's All a Sickle_ shop. Anyway, it's not that I don't want a job, it's more that I haven't found the right one yet."

Sighing, he decided that he might as well drop the topic. Draco's idea of the 'right job' probably involved being made Minister for Magic; or at the very least Magical Ambassador to Haiti.

The next day however Ron returned home to find a very smug looking Draco reclining on the sofa.

"Guess what Weasley?" he said, still insistence on addressing him by his last name despite the fact that they'd been sharing a flat and having intimate and rather vigorous relations for several months now.

"What?"

"I've got a job?"

Ron gaped. "What, you mean a real one?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course."

"But who would employ... I mean, what doing?"

"I am now the official Thursday night life model for the Dionysus Hall Drawing Circle," Draco said, looking distinctly pleased with himself.

"So let's get this straight, instead of lounging around naked on my sofa on Thursday evenings you're going to be going to be lounging around naked on a sofa in front of an audience."

Grinning, Draco nodded

Ron sighed and tried to repress the irrational pang of annoyance that welled up within him at the thought of other people getting to see Draco naked.

After all, it wasn't as though they were in any sort of 'relationship'.


	3. Trouble at Work

A/N: Just another little follow-up drabble in the series. Thanks again to everybody who commented on the last two ficlets.

-

The scowl on Draco's face as he slammed the front door behind him was more than enough to put Ron on his guard.

"So, er, how did it go?" he tentatively asked, aware that this quite possibly wasn't the best thing to say at the present moment, but a tad uncertain as to exactly what would be.

For several moments Draco just glowered.

"I'll tell you how it went," he eventually snarled. "It was the single most demeaning experience of my entire existence."

Ron bit his tongue in an effort to prevent himself from making the wholly true yet somewhat un-diplomatic observation that it would have to be pretty damned bad to beat the time he'd been picked up by the Muggle police following that ill-advised flirtation with Neville Longbottom's 'Special Pipeweed'. Draco tended to get a bit upset when that particular incident was brought up.

"First, I was forced to pose in an uncomfortable position that didn't even show my good side. Then there was an elderly wizard who kept trying to feel me up under the flimsy pretence of re-arranging me so that I could, to quote, 'catch the light better'. After that there were the three teenage witches who couldn't stop giggling every time they looked at my naked body. Oh, and to top it all off, most of the pictures they drew made me look completely deformed."

"So you quit then?" said Ron, in a rather more hopeful manner than intended. For some reason the idea of pervy old wizards and giggling young witches ogling his not-really-boyfriend's nude form caused a mild wave of bile to rise in his throat.

"Of course not," snapped Draco.

"But you just said that it was the most demeaning experience of your existence."

"Yes, but next time will be different."

"It will?" Ron queried as his brow furrowed. Sometimes Draco's thought processes could leave a man completely nonplussed.

Draco nodded. "Of course it will, because this time you'll be coming with me to make sure that the wretched plebes keep their comments respectful, their hands to themselves and their pictures non-ugly."

Ron gaped. "I am not joining some… some dodgy art class just keep an eye on you," he protested.

Draco waved a dismissive hand. "You don't have to join anything. The club leader mentioned that she'd like to have two wizards pose at the same time and you're always going on about short of money you are, so I decided to kill two Hippogriffs with one stone and sign you up as well."

"WHAT?"

"Hope you don't mind."


	4. Life Class

A/N: Thanks to everybody who reviewed the last instalment. I really should feel a little guiltier than I do about subjecting poor Ron to these situations, but I just can't seem to resist.

-

Some peculiar Muggle philosopher chap had, according to Hermione who was knowledgeable in such matters, once proclaimed that 'hell is other people'.

Ronald Weasley, being the sociable sort that he was, had upon hearing of this notion, dismissed it out of hands as the ramblings of an obvious 'loon with no mates'. However, within the space of the last fifteen minutes he had come to the conclusion that this statement did have a tiny grain of truth to it.

Hell, in his current and very definite opinion, was standing stark naked in a thoroughly stupid pose in front of other people. 'Other people' who seemed to have no compunction about a) trying to 'rearrange' him and b) making unseemly observations about the size and shape of some of the rather more personal bits of his anatomy.

He still wasn't sure quite why he had acquiesced to Draco's ridiculous demand so easily; though if he was entirely honest with himself – which he had found it was sometimes best not to be – he would admit that it probably had something to do with the monumental strop he knew that Draco would throw if he refused. After all, being banished to the couch by one's non-rent-paying houseguest in one's own flat was never good for a young man's pride. Besides, he reasoned that if Draco was going to insist on returning to the life model job, he really should try and prevent the dirty old (and not so old) wizards and witches of the Dionysus Hall Drawing Club from further molesting his not-boyfriend.

The ploy was working too. No inappropriate 'rearranging' had been directed in Draco's direction yet: the wandering hands having, for some unfathomable reason, homed in on Ron's physique instead. Alas, despite his apparent success at luring away the unwanted fingers, Ron had found himself quite unable to put a halt to the giggling or the poor artistic representations of Draco that some of the drawers seemed to be creating (indeed one would almost suspect that some of them hadn't put pencil to parchment until today). A fact that was doubtless responsible for the distinctly annoyed expression that Draco wore as he reclined on the chaise lounge to Ron's right.

Typical really, Ron thought as he tried to hold as still as he could. Just like Draco to get to lie down while he had to stand up in a 'heroic' position. But then, the club's leader, an over-enthusiastic witch of mature years, had told them that she'd had the thoroughly wonderful idea of posing them as a royal prince and his noble guard; and Draco was nothing if not possessed of delusions of regal grandeur.

"They really do complement each other so well," enthused a young witch whom he was sure he recognised as a former Ravenclaw who'd been a couple years below them at Hogwarts.

"Oh yes," agreed another witch, whose face was obscured by an easel, but sounded terribly, horrifyingly like Luna Lovegood. "Draco's an interesting subject, but Ron's so much more… more…."

"I know exactly what you mean," said the first witch, not waiting for her co-artist to finish what she was saying. "The blonde's good in his own delicate sort of way, but the red-head's got a fantastic sort of unkempt masculinity to him. It's wonderful."

"Not to mention the fact that he's got a bigger youknowwhat," interjected a loudly hushed male voice that had disturbing overtones of Dennis Creevy.

Risking a brief glance in Draco's direction, Ron inwardly winced as he noted that his co-life-drawing-subject had gone a very definite shade of beetroot.

"Do grow up, Dennis," chided the first witch, confirming Ron's fears.

"Well, it's an accurate observation, isn't it?"

"NO IT'S BLOODY WELL NOT," Draco yelled, finally snapping.

"For God's sake calm down," hissed Ron, embarrassment quadrupling.

"I don't see why I should," Draco snapped. "They're implying that you're better endowed than I am."

Ignoring the jovial round of 'it's what you do with it that counts' that came from various persons in the class, Ron looked his enraged paramour in the eye. "Well, it's hardly as if we can whip out a tape measure right here, is it?"

Draco's lips pursed. "We're going, Weasley. I've had quite enough this… this disrespect."

As much as he wished to flee from the scene as soon as possible, there was one very salient fact that Ron felt he should mention. "But we really need the money for the rent."

"What, you mean to say that you've budgeted my… my public humiliation into your weekly outgoings."

Ron was about to point out that he wouldn't have had to do this if Draco hadn't decided that they really needed that cursed safe from Borgin & Burkes, when the large oak door at the back of the hall opened and a young, ginger-haired woman in professional Quidditch robes walked through.

"Sorry I'm late," said Ginny Weasley, in apologetic tones. "The match went into extra time and we…." She froze. "Ron is that you?"

Ron gulped. "All right, now were going."

As the pair of disrobed men disapparated however, he had no delusions about the fact that he was going to be spending the night on his threadbare sofa.


	5. Enough is Enough

A/N: Big thank you to everybody who reviewed the last instalment. This ficlet is just a short interlude between the drawing class debacle and the inevitable Weasley family drama that will follow.

-

As he lay in the dark, the lumpy and rather uncomfortable padding of the living room sofa beneath him, Ron decided once and for all that Draco had to go.

He'd put up with a lot in this… this _quasi-relationship_: the scowls, the complaining, the tantrums, the near-complete draining of Ron's fiscal resources, the point blank refusals to participate in _'menial and degrading'_ tasks such as 'tidying up after oneself'.

Well, not anymore. The absolute fit Draco had thrown over the drawing class debacle was definitely the last and very final straw. Ron was going to march into his own bedroom, wake up the spoilt bastard and inform him in no uncertain terms that, come the morning, he was going to have to find some other gullible sap to sponge off; because Ronald Weasley wasn't going to be banished to the couch in his own flat ever again.

Ron was, by and large, a laid back sort of guy. He'd been able to take the ranting, the raving and the accusations of sexual exploitation: however, that comment about Ginny being _'an obviously twisted, sex-mad voyeur like the rest of those weirdoes'_ had well and truly cross the line.

Oh yes, he thought, irritation bubbling within him, that Draco sodding Malfoy was-

Ron didn't get to mentally expand upon his exact feelings towards Draco sodding Malfoy as his internal diatribe was abruptly cut off by a loud yelp emanating from the direction of the bedroom.

Two seconds later the yelp was followed by a muffled yet rather desperate sounding plea for mercy, followed by a series of equally desperate sounding mumbled protestations that the comment about the beak had only been intended as a joke.

"Oh great," Ron muttered, pulling himself into a sitting position. "He's having _that_ dream again."

With a very deep and distinctly long-suffering sigh, he got up and walked into the bedroom, where Draco was gibbering something insensible about his father and Griphook the Goblin, whilst grasping desperately onto the bed sheets.

Aware that delivering his 'Draco fuck off' speech at this juncture would put him squarely into the category entitled 'complete shit', Ron moved over to the bed gently shook the blonde haired man awake.

"It's just a dream, Draco," he said, feeling strangely relieved when the other man stirred.

"Ron, is that you?" came the dazed, pleading and oddly vulnerable sounding reply.

"Yeah, it's me. You were having those dreams again."

"Oh."

Before, he could head back to the cold comfort of the sofa an arm slid around his waist and pulled him in the direction of the bed: an action to which he opted not to offer any resistance.

Within a matter of seconds he found himself in a warm, comfortable little cocoon of blankets with a warm and distractingly naked body wrapped snugly around him.

Had he been in a less comfortable and distracted state, Ron may very well have dwelt upon how strange it was that Draco always had the Evil Mutant Hippogriff and Kinky Goblin Fetishism nightmares every time Ron made a final, ultimate, not-to-be-swayed decision to kick him out.

As it was however, all thoughts of kicking his not-boyfriend to the metaphorical curb had mysteriously fled his mind.


	6. A Relative Problem

A/N: Big thank you to everybody who reviewed the last chapter. The encouragement was very much appreciated.

-

When Ronald Weasley awoke he immediately sat bolt upright and give a horrified yelp.

It was the 'Ohshitohshitohshit what the fuck is Malfoy doing in my bed naked' Yelp and he did it every morning (well apart from on the ones when he woke up on the couch, whereby said Yelp was substituted with the 'Oh sodding hell my neck's killing me' Groan). One might have supposed that after a couple of months of living and sleeping together this rather redundant reaction might have faded away. However, so deeply ingrained within his conscious was the notion that having a Malfoy in the bed was cause for panic that the response had endured.

Draco, for his part, merely mumbled something in his sleep that sounded vaguely like 'shut up Weasley' and turned over.

Glancing at the clock, Ron noted that it was half past six in the morning and therefore a rather unseemly hour to be awake on his Wednesday off. He thus made the very sensible and rational decision to sink back down onto the mattress, sling an arm around his not-boyfriend (who had a dreadful habit of looking deceptively harmless and vulnerable whilst asleep), close his eyes and drift back to the Land of Nod, which proved to be a very comfortable and pleasant place to be.

So comfortable and pleasant, in fact, that when the sound of somebody knocking on the door roused him from his slumber, he steadfastly refused emerge into outright wakefulness; opting instead to snuggle closer to the warm body next to him. Indeed, even when the noise intensified to a level that would have outdone that generated by Peeves on one of his more loudly hyperactive days, he remained wilfully semi-conscious and hoped that whoever it was would bugger off sharpish.

The sound of the door being magically blown off its hinges did however pitch him immediately into a state of extreme wakefulness and moderate to severe panic: thoughts of escaped former Death Eaters out for revenge on his mind.

The form that proceeded to barge into his bedroom however notched up the terror blossoming inside him to proportions that not even the vilest of the Dark Lord's ex-minions could have elicited.

"RONALD WEASLEY, I DEMAND TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK YOU'VE BEEN DOING?"

Ron gulped. "Er… hello mum. I was… I was… I mean, me and Draco are…."

"Trying to get some sleep," snapped an irritable Draco, who clearly didn't deem the unexpected arrival of Ron's mother to be any cause to lift his head from the pillow.

"Draco's my new flatmate," said Ron, by way of feeble explanation.

For several seconds – that as far as Ron was concerned felt more like several hours – Molly Weasley just stared at the pair, feature etched with utmost disapproval.

"Oh, he's a little more than that from what I've heard," she retorted, hands on hips. "My own son a… a…."

"Raving homosexual," suggested Draco, irritation giving way to mild amusement.

"An exhibitionist in the thrall of an ex-Death Eater," she snarled, fixing Draco with a glare that instantly wiped the young man's burgeoning amusement away. "How could you Ronald. It's bad enough that Ginny's been attending those… those sordid art classes of immorality, but you… doing those things in public like that. I just can't believe it."

"You mean that Ginny told you?" Ron demanded, inwardly cursing the sadistic forces of destiny that had caused his younger sister to attend the life drawing class where he and Draco were being paid to model nude, in a pose that the more straight-laced members of society might have thought a tad risqué.

"I didn't," protested a small voice coming from the direction of the living room. "I just told Charlie, who told Bill, who told the twins, who were joking about it while Percy was around and Percy-"

"You can keep quiet young lady," said Molly, cutting Ginny off, as the sheepish looking young woman shuffled into the bedroom. "I never would have thought a daughter of mine would take to looking at that kind of thing; or that any son of mine would willingly engage in it in front of an audience." She made a noise that was half way between a sob and a wail. "Why, Ronald, what drove you to it? Didn't you think of the shame?"

"I was only doing it for the money," he said, feeling that his mother, though quite understandably upset to find out that he'd been having relations of a sexual nature with Draco Malfoy and posing in the nude, was laying it on a bit thick.

"The money," she repeated. Disgust and maternal concern momentarily waged war for control of her expression, before reaching a truce and becoming maternal disgust. "You mean that you're… you're prostituting yourselves?"

"For God's sake mum, it was only a life drawing class. I mean, all right, we weren't wearing anything, but it was all very…." He searched for the right word. "Tasteful."

Draco snorted. "Tasteful! I don't think that that lot of so called 'artists' had an ounce of taste between them."

"Yes, but that doesn't mitigate the fact that we weren't doing anything that could reasonably be classified as prostitution."

"I tried to tell her," said Ginny. "But Fred and George convinced Percy that you were both in some kind of live sex show and Percy told mum."

Ron's eyes widened in shock. "What?"

"Honestly, who'd put on a live sex act for that piffling amount," said Draco, dismissively. "It was bad enough just standing around naked in front of them."

"You mean you weren't doing anything… like _that_?" said Molly, looking cautiously hopeful.

"NO"

"Well, it's still not right or proper."

"We've quit now," said Ron.

"Yes, but that doesn't diminish the fact that you were standing around in the altogether in front of an audience. Or the fact that you're currently in bed with that awful Malfoy boy. I mean, what on earth are you doing with him?"

For several seconds Ron stared at the duvet not quite sure how to respond. Even he wasn't quite sure what he was doing with Draco.

"Erm, this may or may not be the best time to tell you mum, but I think I might fancy men."

Molly regarded him with a look of incredulity. "You only _think_ you might, but you went straight ahead and took _that_ one to bed anyway without thinking it through?"

Ron decided that it was probably best not to mention that he hadn't really entertained the possibility until his and Draco's first romantic encounter, which had consisted of a drunken fumble in a hedgerow.

"All right," he said, taking a deep breath. "I think that I probably definitely do fancy men."

It was a while before Molly spoke, but when she did the words were heartfelt. "Well, you're my son, and if that's the case then your father and I will have to accept it - though we did both hope that you'd eventually settle down with a nice girl and have children."

She then took a deep breath and gave him a beseeching glance. "But Ronald, if you're going to insist on being a homosexual, couldn't you at least find a nice, polite young man with a good job at the Ministry."


	7. Unwanted Introductions

A/N: As always a huge thank you goes to everybody who reviewed the last instalment.

-

As soon as Ron made it through the front door he sank, exhausted, to the floor and fought the overwhelming urge to curl into a foetal ball.

It had been seven days since that fateful morning upon which Molly Weasley had barged uninvited into her youngest son's home and caught him in the act of snuggling Draco Malfoy in a very naked and highly suggestive manner. Seven days since he'd been forced to confess to his mother that, yes, he did in fact fancy men and, no, there was no possibility of him settling down with a nice witch anytime soon. Seven days of Harry and Hermione dropping by at sporadic and deeply inconvenient intervals because they were 'concerned' by his recent behaviour. Seven days of going to work and facing Fred and George's endless gags about his sex life (and he considered that blow-up ferret doll they'd sent him by owl was completely beyond the pale, even by their standards).

And worst of all, seven days of his parents inviting him round to tea at the Burrow every evening and introducing him to 'nice young wizards with good prospects'.

"So, what was the latest like then?" asked Draco, as he emerged from the bathroom wearing nothing but a very small towel and a smirk.

"His name was Bartholomew Grey and he was the most boring man I've ever met in my entire life. Good looking, but I'd rather spend an afternoon trapped in a room with Binns than try to have another conversation with him. I mean, he spent two whole hours talking about stationary distribution at the Ministry. It was almost like mum was trying to set me up with a less interesting version of Percy."

Draco frowned. "You thought that he was good looking."

"Well, yes, but that doesn't in any way, shape or form negate the boringness," said Ron, rolling his eyes.

"But you still found him attractive," he reiterated, obviously determined not to be swayed from what he quite clearly thought to be the main issue here.

Ron shook his head and groaned out-loud. An irrationally jealous Draco was the last thing he needed right now. "Oh, for fuck's sake I wasn't saying that he was better looking than you."

"You better bloody not," said Draco, who seemed slightly mollified by this statement despite the pout.

"Anyway, I've told mum that I'm not really interested in meeting anybody else right now, so could she please stop trying to set me up with dad's junior colleagues."

This seemed to cheer Draco up a little. "What did she say?"

"Well, she wasn't pleased, but she said that if we were going to insist on living together then her and dad would have to meet you properly."

"Meet me properly?" queried Draco, sounding suspicious.

"Yeah." Ron looked guiltily down at the floor. "SoIsaidwe'dgoroundforteaattheBurrowtomorrow."

Draco's brow furrowed in incomprehension. "What?"

He gulped. "I said we'd go round for tea at the Burrow tomorrow."

"YOU DID WHAT?"

Knowing that a tirade of abuse was imminent, Ron did the only thing he could.

He surged forward, yanked off the towel and proceeded to enthusiastically demonstrate that Draco wasn't the only one who could give really great blowjobs.


End file.
